


Jackrabbit

by barbarosabee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur encounters another odd stranger, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, all the RDO characters are really just confused immortals, general misadventures of a collector
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 17:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Arthur's met a lot of strange people during his travels, but this woman is among the strangest.Or, Arthur's random encounters with an eccentric collector who might just have the same bad luck he does.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Jackrabbit

**Author's Note:**

> I promised Zagamalli I'd post my OC story if they posted theirs...so here's the first part while I work on making the rest of the random scenes coherent P:

Could’ve been any other day of Arthur riding back to camp, freshly shot buck tied behind him and a pheasant hanging from either side of his saddle. No wind to hide the sharp echo of gunshots off the bleached granite of Citadel Rock—a lot of gunshots. An honest-to-god shootout. Arthur knew a lot of stages passed through this area, and he considered riding on and ignoring it since it weren’t his problem, but he found himself turning towards down the path before he could talk himself out of it.

Expected to see a wagon or a stagecoach beset upon by bandits, or maybe O’Driscolls. Not a single woman stomping a corpse until blood splattered up her pants and stained the fur atop her boots. The shooting had stopped before he rounded the bend. 

Had to be at least a dozen bodies scattered about, some even up on the high sides of the narrow path. Arthur could make out the distinctive O’Driscoll green. A splotchy brown and white horse snorted uneasily near the woman, a breed Arthur didn’t recognize. There was a mealy Belgian draft not far behind it, standing placidly like there hadn’t just been a shootout.

He cleared his throat. The woman didn’t notice, reared back and stomped on the dead man’s skull so hard it gave way with a crack and a sickening wet sound. Arthur swallowed the bile building at the base of his throat.

“Ma’am? Are you alright?”

She wheeled back, gave the body a last kick, and stumbled away from it. Arthur could see the heave of her shoulders even from here but couldn’t tell if she was hurt. She staggered over to her horse. Arthur dismounted, left his rifle on Calliope and approached with his hands raised away from his pistol. 

“Ma’am? You hurt at all?”

She muttered to herself as she checked on the smaller horse. After a moment and some soft words to the horse, she sighed, hard, and turned to face Arthur. 

“They kept shooting at my horses!” She yanked her feathered hat off her head, set it on the saddlehorn and jerked her hair loose from its ties. Ran her hands through it—now Arthur was not one to judge, seeing as he’d gone an impolite number of days without bathing, but an awful lot of dust and leaves came loose as she shook out the reddish-blond strands. 

She sighed again. Gathered her hair into a messy bun and plopped the hat on her head. Looked expensive, with dyed feathers and a bright blue satin band. 

“Are your horses hurt? Or you?”

She squinted at him. Crooked nose with a deep scar across it. A fresh cut high on her cheek real close to her eye, bled sluggishly. Immaculate purple lipstick despite the dust on the rest of her. She squared her shoulders. One hand drifted over a bone-handled knife at her hip. Was a lot of stuff hanging off a belt with innumerable pouches. Arthur thought he saw an old brass compass.

“Think we’ll be alright. You know where the nearest town is?” She turned her head to whistle for the other horse. It trotted over, dirty but unscathed.

Arthur pointed over his shoulder. “Valentine’s not too far that way. Either road’ll get you there in an hour or so.”

She soothed the draft, stood on her tiptoes to pluck a stick from its mane. Gave it a last pat before returning to the saddled horse and mounting. “Thanks.” She rode past them in a fast trot.

“Sure you’re alright?” Arthur called after her. 

She raised her hand in a wave and disappeared around the wall of granite as Arthur stood there, utterly perplexed. 

——

Arthur tossed the deer onto Pearson’s table and straightened with a grunt. Stew wasn’t ready yet so he ambled over to the table where John had a crate of beer and several empty bottles in front of him. John did nothing to acknowledge is presence. 

“How are things, Marston?”

John lifted the beer. “Terrible. That’s why I’m drinking.”

Arthur reached for his own beer. Drank about half of it—John’d finished his newest bottle in the meantime. 

“Ran into an odd woman today.”

“Yeah? What’s so special about that. You’re like a goddamn magnet for strange folk.”

“She’d gotten in a whole mess with some O’Driscolls.”

John, unimpressed with the story but too determined to be drunk to move, tossed his empty bottle over his shoulder and opened another. “So what? You swoop in and save her?”

“Na. She’d shot ‘em all already.”

John set his bottle down. Looked at Arthur cross eyed and unsteady. “Bullshit.”

“Swear it’s true. Weren’t nobody else there. Just her and a dozen dead O’Driscolls.”

“I still don’t believe you,” John said before draining what had to be his sixth beer. “Woman who’s that good with a gun’s gotta be running with  _ someone _ .”

Arthur shrugged, sipped on the warm beer and roved his eyes around the overlook. Lot of folk lounging in the hour or so before supper. Javier tunelessly strummed his guitar near the main fire. Hosea was half asleep in a chair. Susan, for once, wasn’t screaming at the girls to get back to work. 

John dug around the crate, whined when he found all the bottles empty. 

Arthur passed him his half-finished beer. “Looked like she’d been on the road a while. Had a draft with a buncha crates and bags tied to it.”

John shrugged around the bottle. “You tell Dutch about her?”

Arthur shrugged. “Don’t see the point.”

“Tell Dutch about what?” Hosea eased onto the crate nearest Arthur. Tried to hide a cough but Arthur caught it anyways. 

“Nothing much.”

“Arthur met a fancy lady,” John supplied with a drunken burp. 

Hosea raised an eyebrow at Arthur. 

“She weren’t  _ fancy _ . Shot up a bunch of Colm’s boys. Don’t need to tell Dutch about every person I run into now, do I?”

Hosea hummed. “Well, that depends. She seem like a threat?”

“Seemed like she was just passing through. Didn’t know the area.”

The crate of empty beer rattled as Hosea pulled it over. He frowned into it, then at John, before sighing. “Far as I’m concerned she’s done is a favor. No sense in bothering Dutch about it.” 

John started laughing at nothing, and then he was falling off his seat and Arthur excused himself before he could be asked to deal with it. 

  
  


——

**Author's Note:**

> if you've been following me for my other stories....THERE HAS BEEN PROGRESS! I have dusted off "return to blackshear butte" and am slowly working on the next chapter...shhhh....don't scare it off


End file.
